With all of the community news, events, and celebrations that come with June being LGBTQIA there’s still the undercurrent that the Cis/Hetero community isn’t necessarily aware of unless they are in some way connected.
Following posts and links and reading articles that all spill forth with Pride month, you get to see more than you may have bargained for. I was so thrilled to find this article about Budweiser and what they are doing to be Pride inclusive. Awesome. I wish more people and companies would follow suit. Thanks Budweiser!
I came across this article, thanks to the Gay Star News, and was very excited to see the inclusion represented and the steps that they are taking. Unfortunately, that excitement was very short lived once I got to the comments… not from trolls, but from actual members of our community, denying acceptance and in some cases siding on the erasure of our own Rainbow Tribe family members.
” It’s bad enough polluting with more plastic, we’re polluting the lgbt with more of that “asexual” nonsense. ”
“So I am stuck getting a SJW cup.”
” But they’re not, and talking over actual lgbt people to pretend you are doesn’t get you anywhere. “
” asexual isn’t even lgbt. full stop. “
” Agender is a gender? “
” asexuality is not a part of pride, sorry. just because you arent attracted to any sex doesnt mean you are lgbt “
“I think you spelled that wrong. LGBT. Has been and always be that acronym. L – lesbian. G – Gay. B- bisexual. T- transgender. Quit adding your letters to try and feel validated. Sorry buddy. Just because you or someone else isn’t sexually attracted to a gender or a person. Doesn’t mean you are persecuted and name called and raped. No. Pride is for those that have been through that or DIDNT MAKE IT. Stop trying to push your way into this. You or whoever else that is asexual can be an ally.”
Tell me how inclusive the rainbow is when members of the community pick and choose who can and can’t join… it’s a not a 10-year-old’s tree house that says “Private. No girls allowed.”
It’s comments like these that are the exact reason that I am in love with the Progress Pride Flag.
Anyone who is non-hetero, non-cis, non-hetero romantic and has a combination of reproductive organs of more than one sex is a member of the Rainbow Tribe known as LGBT, LGBTQ, and/or LGBTQIA+. Really. It’s that simple.
We have members of the gay community that are racist, members who are anti-trans, who are binary exclusive (TERFs). And, woohoo, we got a T, a Q, an I, and an A. Great for Wheel of Fortune, not so much for Transgender, queer/questioning, intersex and agender/asexual members of our community.
And let’s not forget the “+” added on as a catchall for other sexualities. You’re on the fringe so you get to be an asterisk and be put in the bargain bin and ignored.
And yet people they still refer to the 1978 rainbow flag as being a gay pride flag and the gay community is just one part of the LGBTQ* community.
I’ll be honest, I personally don’t think that the last 4 letters should have been put with the first three. Sexuality and gender are two different things and I think it adds to confusing the cis-heteros and rather than asking questions they just say we’re all fucked up and shut the door in our faces. And how can we blame them for being undereducated on the subject when a large part of our own community is as well?
Late in the night of my 3rd birthday, less than 8 short miles from my home, transgender women started the Stonewall Riots and kicked off the beginning of the “gay rights” movement. “Gay rights.” And the only ones who seem know who started the movement are the ones in the trans community.
“Gays” can now be in the military, get married, adopt kids, live where you want, work where you want and are covered under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act.
Trans folks? Nope, get out of our military and stay the fuck out of our bathrooms! I don’t want you to live near me, work with me, or be in school with “our” children.
We have TERFs who say that non-binary folks – genderqueer, genderfluid, agender, pangender, demi gender, etc. aren’t *really* trans folks. Well we’ve got a choice in gender with only two options, cis or trans. That’s it. So if non-binary doesn’t count… who the fuck are we other than not welcome and invisible?
We have gay & lesbian folks that say that asexuals aren’t one of “us”. In fact a poster on this very thread said they’re not allowed to be in the club because they haven’t struggled. Says who? Oh wait, and what makes your arrogant ass think that they need your damned permission? Again, two options… gay or straight. Straight, which is the baseline of “normal” or so it used to be called and still thought of by some, is pretty simple and pardon the pun, straight forward. So if you’re not straight, you’re a member of the Rainbow Tribe.
You think you had it bad as gay or lesbian? At least you were acknowledged as existing.
And as far as the inclusion of the brown and black stripes… there is too much racial divide in the gay community, and trans women of color are being slaughtered at such a rate that soon they’ll be classed as an endangered species. I hope we can have a telethon to save Laverne Cox at least.
LGBTQIA+ – I know it’s a mouthful of letters, but we’re (allegedly) grown folks and unlike the guy in the oval who “knows the best words” (but can’t spell them), I think we can manage 5 to 7 letters. Can’t we? Tell me how we can ask and even demand acceptance if we’re not willing to accept members of our own community?
I was going to share the graphic, along with a few words on Facebook. Those few words trickled out until they hemorrhaged through my keyboard. Sorry for the TMI, but it’s my truth.
So now instead of a few sweet words and a graphic, you get a very real, not sweet moments of my life in a blog Op/Ed. I hope that you can share your truth so that we all stand up for what is being done to us and against us in this moment of history.
– Maggie ॐ
For the woman who has a miscarriage, where the body expels non-viable embryo or fetus, it is called a spontaneous abortion. I wonder how many of these bible banging hypocrites know their wives have had an abortion… against their will at that.
In 2006 I found out I was pregnant, only to miscarry shortly thereafter. It was an ectopic pregnancy which is when the fertilized egg nests in the fallopian tube rather than in the lining of the uterus. Normally an ectopic pregnancy doesn’t miscarry, but rather creates a life-threatening situation where the size of the embryo exceeds the interior width of the tube causing it to rupture and leaving no other choice but emergency surgery and in most cases, having the damaged fallopian tube to be removed.
Mine was unique in that I miscarried before it gained enough size to create the aforementioned situation. Generally, after a uterine miscarriage or abortion, a procedure known as a D&C (short for dilation and curettage) is performed to ensure that the uterus is completely cleared out. In my case, this was not an option because you can’t do a D&C on a fallopian tube, and while my tube had not ruptured, the threat was still there because any “residual cells” could continue to grow and rupture the tube anyway.
My husband and I went home that night from the ER, devastated and grieving for the child we had lost. A child who never got named anything other than “spontaneous abortion”. The following day, we were set to return for their improvisational treatment to address my unique situation, a course of chemotherapy that would retard and eliminate the growth of any “residual cells”.
In one of the cruelest situations of my life, I was to go – not to the cancer ward to have the chemotherapy administered – instead, they sent me to the OB/GYN department, where I got to sit at eye level with every pregnant belly, every inverted turkey-timer looking navel. And just when I thought that fate couldn’t get much crueler, the nurse came over with a clipboard with paperwork for me to complete, one of which was an authorization for an abortion.
The only word that applied then, and now, is “mindfuck”. And the fun was just beginning… I started with the “I’m pregnant” pukies, only to be followed by the “I’m not pregnant anymore” pukies and the “chemotherapy” pukies. And just when you want to crawl inside a hole and die or find some way to hide from the people who knew you were pregnant and now ask how you’re doing… it got worse. I had to go for weekly blood draws to monitor my HCG levels.
HCG is the hormone that is detected in a pregnancy test. You see, my “residual cells” were still causing me to have those. And those weekly blood draws were to make sure that my HCG levels were staying the same or declining because there was still the chance that they could increase. If they did it would mean that my “residual cells” would be increasing in volume and surgery to remove them. 14 weeks. 14 weeks before my HCG levels finally started tapering off and maintained a steady decline.
I was pregnant, had a spontaneous abortion, had to give consent for them to perform an abortion, all while spending 14 weeks waiting to find out when I would finally stop being pregnant. I am pro-choice, but this was not my choice, far from it. The 11-year-old who was raped and is now pregnant, that wasn’t her choice either.
And now she gets to spend every day reliving the horror as her body continues to remind her of the worst day of her life while people force her to endure this day after day. Only for her to finally deliver (c-section would be my guess, 11-year-old bodies aren’t really ready to carry and naturally deliver a full-term child). So even if she is able to deal with the additional anguish of giving the child up for adoption, she’ll have that scar to give her warm memories of happier times, huh?
Silly me, I almost forgot If she does wind up keeping the child, she gets to co-parent with her rapist. Won’t that be fun?
Thanks to all the men who keep making laws about shit you don’t fucking have a clue about and the torture you inflict on others with your overblown sense of morality.
Now that you’ve read my story, ask yourself where I would be in a state like Alabama if you were the doctor and what would you be allowed to do to treat me.
I mean that truly to be devoid of personal beliefs and judgment, just what you need to do, as a physician, to treat your patient under the mandate that if you perform, aid or assist in an abortion, then you are subject to personal liability and criminal prosecution. Tell me how you would have treated me or better yet if I would have lived.
Also, in the back of your head hold on to the thought that in Mississippi several years back they tried criminalizing abortion to the point that if a woman had a miscarriage that she would be charged with manslaughter.
It’s a very tangled issue, and blanket statements and legalities that don’t accommodate for cases of rape, incest, the viability of the fetus, the overall health and survivability of the woman just confuse and muddy the situation even further.
Abortion is not just some person who was too lazy to take birth control but doesn’t want kids. And for the record, men are largely responsible for unplanned pregnancies.
I try to keep politics off this page, but it gets to a point that it’s nearly impossible to do. It seems that many of us missed the reporting of the CPAC in 2017 where Trump supporters were waving Russian flags with his name on them. No. I’m not joking. I will post the link at the bottom of this post.
A fellow outraged American posted this response and I have to say it’s incredible and I felt that I needed to help it see the light of day instead of being buried and collecting dust as a response on a thread that will be hard to find in two days.
I want to thank the author for, what I consider to be, the most intelligent, most succinct, factual list of 45’s atrocities as President and the passive approval he receives from his supporters.
Many thanks to Mr. Durwin Bonds and his masterful summation of the last two years with 45 out front.
I love Robert Reich. He reminds me of the America I lived in and was taught to believe in as a kid. Uncle Sam hasn’t been seen or mentioned for a long time. He’s probably in a corner, medicated for severe depression and anxiety.
Talk to you soon, Maggie ॐ “Art and Giving are Food for the Soul”
“It’s easier to get free wi-fi than it is to get free water and people act like there’s nothing wrong with the world”. – Fidel Littlelight
Water has turned into a huge commodity. As a former retailer I can tell you that water is one of the most profit bearing items in a store. I used to be able to get cases of water for less than $2 each (making the cost of each bottle roughly 9¢ a piece) and the suggested retail price was 99¢. That’s a heck of a margin huh?
In fact, have you seen a water fountain recently? Probably not. Usually only in schools and hospitals anymore, with an occasional sighting at an office building (leftovers from days gone by). They’re getting harder to find, aren’t they? Now imagine you’re homeless. Where do you get a drink of water?
I understand that even if it’s within your means, many people are not comfortable handing cash to the person with the sign at the intersection and I don’t disagree. Sadly there are scammers out there and there is no way to determine who is legit and who just figure it’s a great way to make a buck.
Shortly after I stopped living in a shelter I was back living with my parents. My mom needed to go for a therapy appointment due to an injury, so I dropped her off and used her truck to go grocery shopping. When I got back, there was a man in the parking lot begging for money from everyone he could find talking about how he, his wife and child were now living on the streets and hungry. When he approached me, I let him know that I had no money but that I had just gotten done grocery shopping and walked him to the back of the truck asking if he had the means to cook and started pulling out groceries for him. He thanked me and turned down my offering of food, then proceeded to go skittering off to the fast food drive thru next door to return to his quest for cash.
Please do not take what I’ve said as a reason to never help someone with a sign. There are many, many needy people who need our help and cities and municipalities are really aiming to put the homeless population out of sight and out of mind. If you haven’t had the opportunity to read my piece on the homelessness – Insights into the Dark – I would ask you to check it out when you have a chance.
I’d like to take this opportunity to challenge everyone who reads this to buy a case of bottled water. It doesn’t have to be expensive, just whatever you can find at the best price, and keep it in a cooler with a little ice. As you’re driving around town doing errands and you see someone with a sign, sleeping on a piece of cardboard or a park bench or under an overpass – offer them a bottle of water. It’s a small kindness that goes an incredibly long way.
I think a case of water at Wal-Mart is around $3.50 and at CVS you can catch it on sale for $2. While you may not be willing to hand someone cash, offering them a bottle of water that cost you 9¢-15¢, that would cost them a dollar or more at the nearest shop is a huge help. Can you think of any other way to help that many people for under four dollars?
It’s a frugal way to help and it’s a great way to help your fellow-man. Thanks for listening.
Today I offer you a poem and a story, and sadly neither are intended to make you smile. There are no pictures and there’s also a good chance that it will probably make you somewhat uncomfortable.
However, uncomfortable is what leads to change. Uncomfortable is what makes us say “no more”. I keep hoping that more people every day will become more and more uncomfortable, so they’ll look outside their comfort zone and see the need around them, and feel compelled to affect change.
Hello, my name is Anna and I’m six years old
I live with my mama and papa
They can’t always afford to feed me as often as they would like
They can’t afford to buy me clothing very often
We don’t have a house, but we have shelter sometimes
I used to have a brother but he died
I love my parents, and I know that love me too
They try so very hard
We are part of your society
a part you either don’t see or won’t see
I probably won’t be here very much longer
I just wanted to say hello
Hello my name is Anna and I’m ten years old
My daddy died, Mama says someone shot him
Mama has lots of friends, she says that’s how she pays the rent
I used to have a brother but he died too,
Mama said we couldn’t feed him anymore
I worry about my Mama she puts needles in herself
But she says” don’t worry baby God is coming for us all”
I know that I’m supposed to believe in God
and I guess I do
I just haven’t seen him in my neighborhood
Mama’s calling for me now I have to go make her lunch
anyway I just wanted to say hello
Hello, my name’s Anna and I’m fifteen.
I know what my mama did to raise me,
I understand now because I have a daughter now
and I call her Ella… I’d do anything to make sure that she has enough
food and clothes, but things keep getting in the way.
it’s so expensive, and they want so much from me.
I love my little girl but sometimes when she cries when she’s hungry
I just want to get away…
so I do…
Hello, My name is Ella or so I’m told,
they said that my Mama named me after my grandma,
but I never knew her
They tell they she loved me very much
but I never knew
I should have had a daddy
but they never knew
They are closing the home tomorrow
because they have no money
I ask where will I go
but nobody knows
Hello, My name is Ella and I’m 12 years old,
for as long as I can remember
I’ve been sold from pimp to pimp for cigarettes or pool wagers or on a whim,
I am chattel, I am worthless.
I don’t even care enough to despair
DsHello, My name is Ella
I’m a corpse under a bridge,
I’ve been here for weeks
and no one seemed to notice,
I wonder why that is
I lived with a woman named Susan in the homeless shelter I stayed in, along with her husband Dave and their daughter, April (she was 8 maybe?). Dave had a massive stroke that left him confined to a wheelchair, having to be fed and changed, and unintelligible speak to anyone other than his wife or daughter. In fact, everyone originally thought he was her father because he had aged so much from all that he’d been through medically. Sadly she didn’t know enough to apply for social security.
They were a single income household and Susan stopped working when she found out that she was pregnant. They lost their home, most of their possessions, their cars. And now Dave was an invalid who couldn’t take care of himself. With limited skills and experience, the only place that would hire her was McDonald’s. Susan would take care of Dave as soon as they woke up, along with getting April off to school. Susan would leave to go to work, then when April came “home” after school, then she’d be her dad’s caretaker until Susan got “home” around midnight, walking both ways because the car they had been living in had been repossessed.
On the way “home” one night Susan was stopped by three rough looking men, one of which had been kicked out of the shelter previously for being an asshole, and he blamed her. She had asked him to watch his mouth around her daughter and he wouldn’t and got nasty with her, so she told the guard and asked that he try to handle it.
Then he got into it with the guard and started an altercation, needless to say, he was out for good. Not necessarily a good thing in Colorado in the winter(oh well); he brought it on himself but of course he blamed everyone but himself. So here she was, alone, walking “home” and suddenly surrounded by these three street thugs. The one with the vendetta and two of his buddies. They decided to drive train on her because gang-rape is a worthy punishment for asking the guard to make you stop talking in 4-letter words around someone’s young daughter.
I couldn’t sleep at night back then either so I was wide awake as always when she came in later than usual. Her hair messed up, her uniform was a mess, dirty, ripped in places with some blood on it, and a face that was stained with tears. We all knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t hard to tell what that something was.
We tried suggesting to her to go to the hospital to get checked out, but she refused, almost in a panic attack, saying that she couldn’t go because if they admitted her, then that would leave her 8-year-old daughter there to take care of her father, and not only was that not something she wanted to do to April. The big problem was that because since neither April or David was self-sufficient, not only would they not be allowed to stay at the shelter, but children’s services & adult protective services could be called to take both of them away.
A couple of us asked her if they could help her get cleaned up, We all offered to help her family in her absence, I even told her that I’d drive her so that everyone wouldn’t be nosy if an ambulance showed up, but she just said, “no, I just need to be with my family right now”. And just as Susan said, she climbed into her bunk between her daughter and her husband and cried all night. The next morning she told David what happened, we could see it in his face when she told him. He sobbed for 3 days straight
Her pants were ripped pretty badly when she was attacked, so we all chipped in to buy her a new pair of work pants so she could still work. By dinner time the next day, the entire shelter knew what happened. After that, the guards let a couple of the guys out each night so they could walk her home.
Lockdown was at 10, lights out at 10:30. And if you didn’t have a pre-authorized pass signed by your employer, it didn’t matter if you had Jesus himself with you for backup, and you *still* weren’t getting in. The guards couldn’t leave while they were on duty but would let the (rougher) guys go out every night passed lockdown so they could go get her and bring her back. And the guys all took turns, this way if anyone was watching they’d know that there were more than two guys backing her up.
Sunday night was something that well all looked forward to. That’s when we all went to Church in Manitou Springs, where they served dinner… real food, not the crap we were used to. You had to be there on time because they only had so many portions. The soup kitchen in town had those big giant pots, and if they had a significant amount left, it went into tomorrow’s meal, but not at the church in Manitou Springs. It was good food, sometimes it was the only good thing that happened to us for the whole week.
I still had my car, a small Chevette knockoff. I would earn gas money from people to take them places. On Sunday nights it was great because I was always guaranteed to get three guys in the back seat, with me & my boyfriend up front with me. They all gave me $5 each and gas was still 99¢ a gallon back then so it was a great income for someone who couldn’t find a job. I also did it for the ones who went to the plasma center during the week because they were not up to walking back. I lost my job because they found out that I was living in the shelter so this was the only money I was making, by being a taxi to my fellow “shelter rats” (as we were called).
Anyway, we all were sitting down with our plates… it was loud, filled with happy talk because of a real meal and a change of scenery, dishes, silverware, and glasses all clanking and banging. The pastor would have everyone bow their heads and he’d say grace then we could eat. Well he said grace, we dug in and within a few minutes, you could hear a pin drop.
“…and then the angels of justice and mercy came for Susan.”
It was about a month after Susan was attacked and the three guys that raped her made the mistake of coming into the Church basement for dinner. The two guys behind him knew their world was going to change when they turned around to leave and there were two guys barring the door. The leader, I don’t remember his name from 31 years ago, but I do remember his face. He was the blackest person I’d ever seen. Skin the color of espresso, the only thing that gave him away in the dark was his teeth and his eyes. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black pants which gave away how he got around at night (like a ninja) and on his shoulder a heavy chain with a metal padlock on it.
The pastor came out and asked what was going on and one of the guys told him. He looked at those three, grossly outnumbered and said, “I’m sorry we’re full and there’s no more to eat” (which was true) but elicited a very forceful no. The pastor told him “Well then, I’m sure the boys will you help you find the way to your car.” The guy spoke up telling the Pastor that he didn’t have a car. So the pastor glossed over his response and said “God doesn’t care if you have a car or not, he cares about *other* things like how you live, how you treat people, and so on. Boys, If you wouldn’t mind, could you please take these late-comers out to their car, I have to go check on dessert.”
They hadn’t even made it out of the basement when everything jumped off. He rolled his shoulder to drop the chain to put it in his hand but it got snatched away from him while his face stopped someone’s fist from running away. The guy who grabbed the chain from him swung it…
I was “caught staring with the dumb look” (as we used to call it.) I’d never seen a cheekbone before, or any bone for that matter (other than watching Deliverance, but it was not the same.) I was just completely stunned at just how white it was, but that was of course in contrast with the espresso colored skin and the bright red blood that was now going everywhere. The next blast was a right hook that cold-cocked him. It was at that point when he was dragged out into the parking lot and his friends (who were still conscious at least) took off. When thug #1 came to a couple of minutes later, he was freaking out about how he got there and the amount of blood ( a bit dazed don’t you know) and he got his ass kicked. He suddenly came to his senses, stood up and then took off as quickly as he could like his friends did.
Our guys came back in just as the pastor came out, who took one look at them and said “boys, it was very nice of you to help those gentlemen with their car trouble, but you’ve all gotten so dirty, you need to all come in the kitchen and wash up all of you, you need to be presentable for dinner.” (read: Just in case the police showed up.)
I was there for another couple of months but that guy was never seen around town ever again to my brief knowledge.
I really do hope that Susan and David, along with their daughter April were able to move on and move up. I hope they were given access to the services they needed to survive and with any luck, they were able to get help for all that they had endured.
So, why did I tell you this long-winded story you ask?
The reason for this is to use light to see those who are in the shadows, to see those who are normally invisible to the population as a whole. The homeless are a large part of our country’s landscape as well abroad. We see the pictures of the homeless during the Great Depression. People standing in lines a block long. People living in tents We don’t see that, just the occasional person standing at an intersection with a cardboard sign, we don’t see them. So if there is such a homeless problem, where are they? Why don’t they look the same? Easy, back then are programs now like SNAP, Welfare, and WIC that didn’t exist back then. There were no homeless shelters, just people living in Hoovervilles. No food pantries, no soup kitchens per say, there were soup lines (the bonus there was you could fill a soup pot up so that you could feed your children, and bread lines. Can you imagine?
The problem is that these people along with myself at the time and even now as a disabled person, is that we are/were invisible. I swear, I would love 10 acres of land, cover it with tiny houses, solar panels on every roof, mandatory recycling, a place in the middle with a laundry room and hot showers (just in case you’re too tall or just fluffy like me), wifi for the community, since nowadays places will only take applications online. A community center with a couple of computers for kids to do homework, gather up books for a take a book/leave a book library, the same goes for DVD’s and we would have weekend gatherings so you could get to know your neighbors and further know that you’re not alone, you’re not the only person that this has happened to and you just have to get up, dust yourself off. And they’d all have to pitch in taking care of the community…. emptying trash, raking leaves or cutting grass or shoveling snow, helping someone with a handyman project, etc and with the goal that this is temporary, you get your life back together or create a new one and you move up and let that tiny house help out the next person or couple in need.
Well if anyone has an extra $150K lying around and can’t think of what to do with it, give me a call…
In the meantime, thanks for listening and please, don’t have invisible people surround you. Look for them and you’ll see. And once you see, you’ll have them in your heart and want to help
Editor’s note: I received the same message today that I received last year. Oddly enough, today would have been my mother’s 75th birthday. She’s gone now, thanks to metastasized breast cancer. If you do nothing else for yourself, please do the and share it with the people in your life.
It’s that time of year again, and by that I mean it’s the time for slacktivism in the name of breast cancer. While the games haven’t surfaced (yet), There’s a different one currently going on. I woke up to see a notification on messenger from my friend’s daughter that said the following:
As per my usual stance, I had to tell her no because these things make me angry but assured her that I would get a reminder out. If you’re new to following me, I must explain that I get really angry with the slactivism. You see both of my parents died of cancer. My father died of a mesothelioma (the ones that the attorneys advertise) and my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer just 6 months later.
She went through months of medication and radiation, constantly in pain from the literal burns to her skin. 6-1/2 years later, and after yet another clean bill of health from her bi-annual checkups from her breast oncologist, we went on the vacation she’d always dreamed of to Alaska. She had fallen getting in and out the boat she boarded to go salmon fishing. She caught a nice one too, over 2 feet long!
When we got home her shoulder suddenly started getting worse instead of better. That’s when they found a spot on her liver. They did further testing and revealed that a tumor was in her liver and not on it as it appeared initially and was progressing pretty rapidly. With the confirmation, they gave her 4-6 months to live, but she died one month later when the tumor had grown so large that it literally caused her liver to rupture/explode.
Oddly enough her death certificate lists the cause of death, not as liver cancer, but as metastasized breast cancer, meaning that breast cancer returned had spread. We knew that the breast cancer could come back in the breast and we knew that it could spread to other areas of the body, but none of us knew that it could spread to other organs while it wasn’t present in the breast, making it that much more serious and why we should be diligent about keeping ourselves alive and healthy.
Now for those who haven’t been around someone with cancer, there are several forms of treatment; chemo and radiation being to the two biggest. Radiation therapy causes a burn to the skin that’s like the worst sunburn you’ve ever had. It was brutal, and it hurt her so badly, just putting a t-shirt on was painful and putting on a bra and going to work, much less going to work all day. Think about working with the worst sunburn you’ve ever had and then multiply it several times. It can also cause other issues like lumps under the skin (doesn’t that sound like it would be pleasant to add to the already wonderful situation.
Chemotherapy is another type of radiation therapy but instead of being topical (directed to the skin from outside the body) it is invasive, meaning taken internally. And because it’s an invasive therapy, it means that it can have side effects anywhere in the body instead of it remaining in the area targeted like radiation therapy does. There’s too long of a list for me to cover all the side effects of chemotherapy; if you’d like to see them and learn more please visit the National Cancer Institute’s Chemotherapy Side Effects series, there are 18 documents in total.
Educating yourself and others are what needs to be done to finally win this battle. Cancer has claimed *BILLIONS* of lives. There is nothing to whisper about behind the scenes. Preventing cancer is not in poor taste, it’s not obscene. For the record not only do men have wives, mothers, girlfriends, sisters and daughters who have, have had or possibly will have this and they need to know about this too, men can also get breast cancer. Tell me the last time you saw a game of tag about that?
So speak up and speak out. Stop whispering and playing online games, and thinking you’re off the hook because you bought something with a pink ribbon on it in the past 20 years. We need to save the people, not the tatas.
So please, check them before cancer wrecks them. If you’re a woman who is sexually active, consider doing it with your partner since chances are they are more intimate with your boobs than you are (or at least they try to be). The Five Steps of a Breast Cancer Exam
“Art and Giving are Food for the Soul”
P.S. While we’re talking about it, guys need to be reminded too.